


Keeper's Brother

by Russ (Quasar)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Russ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair have dinner with Steven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeper's Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 1998. Takes place after the episode "Brother's Keeper."

"Whoa. I didn't realize this place was so fancy." Blair took in the tastefully expensive foyer. "Is my tie straight?"

"This was Steven's choice," said Jim with a shrug. "Guess he wants to show off his bank balance."

Blair looked at his partner in surprise. "Come on, man. He probably didn't even think about it. I bet he has power lunches here all the time."

"Hmm," said the detective non-committally.

"Y'know Jim, not everything has to be a pissing contest." Blair's volume dropped suddenly as the maitre d' appeared.

"Quoting Uncle Gustavo now?" Jim asked sardonically.

Blair's face froze. "Not intentionally. Did he say that?"

"Ah, yes, we have a reservation," Jim told the maitre d'. "Ellison." As he gestured Blair to precede him, he noticed that the younger man's manner was subdued. He was probably thinking about Maya now, thanks to that reference to Gustavo. Jim hadn't meant to bring up a painful memory, but lately he was having a little trouble controlling his tongue around Blair -- especially when it concerned Blair's numerous conquests.

Jim was trying to formulate an apology that wouldn't sound like an apology when he noticed something more important. "Are you limping?" he demanded as they took their seats at an empty table.

"Limping? No."

"Sandburg, don't lie to me. I saw that wince. What did you do to your leg?"

"It's nothing, man. I just pulled something, that's all."

"Pulled -- what, a stitch?"

"Oh hey, here's Steven." Blair smiled and held out a hand in greeting.

Jim ignored his brother for the moment. "Sandburg, did you say you pulled a stitch?"

"No, man, the stitches were all dissolved over a week ago. The muscle's still a little weak, that's all, and I was running up and down those grandstand steps yesterday." Blair grinned apologetically at Steven Ellison. "I got shot in the leg about a month ago, and Jim's got this big brother -- umm, or maybe it's more of a mother hen thing going, you know?"

Steven nodded stiffly, sitting down opposite Jim.

Blair recovered himself. "So I guess it must have been a big surprise, finding out that your boss was behind all this."

"Hmm, yeah." Steven studied the table, looked at Blair, fiddled with his menu -- he never met Jim's eyes. "You know, I never could stand Pat. We rubbed each other wrong from the very first day. I've never had such a strong negative reaction to anyone I've worked with."

"You mean you guessed she was up to something?" Blair asked. Jim caught the fervent gleam in his partner's eye as he probed the extent of Steven's intuition.

"No, not at all. It's still a big step from spending every day trying not to slug your boss in the eye to realizing she's an embezzler and a murderer."

There was a pause while they ordered. When the waiter was gone Blair prodded the conversation along once more. "At least you have your job back now."

"Yeah. And a lot of work to do, repairing the grandstand. That's cause for celebration, I figured. So's meeting up with Jim again." Steven grinned cautiously at his older brother. "That's why I invited you out here tonight."

" _See, Jim?_ " Blair breathed almost inaudibly. "Well, thanks for asking us. This stuff looks great." Blair sniffed appreciatively as the soup arrived.

Steven was beginning to relax now. "So you were in on that big chase yesterday at the track?"

"Well, that was mostly Jim's scene. He left the rest of us to clean up after him, as usual."

"What do you mean, 'as usual'?" Jim demanded. "Since when did you do any clean-up?"

"Since the last time I did all your paperwork!" Blair retorted.

Steven chuckled. "So, you're Jim's partner."

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, I don't know if you caught my full name or not." Blair threw a glare in Jim's direction. "Blair Sandburg."

"I suppose you hear a lot of this, but, uh . . . you don't really look like a cop."

Blair laughed. "That's because I'm not. I'm an anthropologist."

"Oh." Steven stiffened, looking between the two of them. "Oh, I didn't realize . . . I mean, I thought . . ."

Jim looked at his stuttering brother, then at his partner who was slowly turning red. "Thought what?" he asked blankly.

"Well, I thought you meant partners as in work, not partners as in, um . . . so you live together?"

Blair was snickering into his vichysoisse.

"Yeah, well, Sandburg's just a student and can't really afford a place of his own," Jim elaborated. He gave Blair's ankle a kick under the table.

"I see. Well, really, I have to say I'm . . . well, surprised, yes. But I'm really impressed, Jim, that you can be so open about this."

Blair had a napkin pressed to his mouth and nose now, with tears flowing from his eyes.

Steven continued, "I mean, I know it's never easy for anyone being gay, but for a cop it must be even harder --"

" **Gay?** "

Heads turned around the restaurant. Blair had lost control completely and was sobbing into his napkin.

Steven just looked confused. "Isn't that what you were talking about?"

"No! Sandburg's my partner at work. He's a police observer. He's studying the police as, um --" Jim tried to dredge up the bullshit line they were supposed to be feeding everyone.

"Social structures . . . in closed subcultures," Blair managed between giggles.

"He's not -- we're not -- he stays in my spare room, for god's sake!"

"I'm sorry, I thought . . . well, obviously I was confused."

"Obviously. Excuse me, I have to, um -- Sandburg, will you _stop_ laughing!" Jim got up and stalked out toward the restrooms.

He paused in the lobby, breathing deeply, trying to subdue his sudden anger. He might have been a little slow on the uptake there, but how was he supposed to guess what Steven was thinking? And what excuse did that give Blair for laughing at him? As he calmed a little, he instinctively tuned his hearing in to the next room.

"Are you all right, Mr. Sandburg?"

"I'm fine . . . really, fine. I'm sorry for laughing like that, it was just --" A giggle escaped. "I am sorry. But the expression on your face --"

Jim's jaw eased a little. Sandburg was laughing at Steven, not at him?

"I guess I was totally off-base there," said Steven. "Do you think I should go after him?"

"No, no, I'm sure he'll be back in just a minute."

"I just don't want to set off another fifteen years of no talking to each other."

"Jim wouldn't do that, man."

"He seemed angry enough."

"He was just surprised, I think. I mean, I'm sure you're not the first person to think that, but no one's ever had the guts to say it to his face before."

"Oh, God." Steven's voice was muffled -- face buried in his hands, perhaps?

"Seriously man, don't worry about it. Jim's not going to be offended once he cools down a little. He's totally secure in his masculinity, you know? No reason for him to freak out about something like this."

_Easy for you to say_ , thought Jim, remembering what he had recently learned about Blair's feelings toward him.

"I just -- just don't want to mess things up again."

"It's okay. Give Jim a chance. You're not teenagers anymore, and your father isn't around to confuse the issue."

There was a pause. "He told you."

"Yeah. Well, he told me his side of it. Why don't you tell me your side?"

"If Jim told you I acted like a jerk, he was right. I was fifteen. I was stupid and angry at the world. It was an accident in the first place; I was putting some tools away in the garage, and I -- I was upset, I guess it made me clumsy. Next thing I know there's a dent in Dad's prized possession. And all I could think was that he'd bawled me out once already over my grades. I just didn't think I could take it again. And Jimmy was -- nothing ever seemed to bother him. I thought he could take anything, including the blame for what I'd done. By the time I realized how wrong I was . . . he was gone."

"Did you try to get him to come back?"

"What could _I_ do?" Another pause. "No. No, actually, I didn't even try. I told myself he was the lucky one, getting away from Dad like that. If Jim thought Dad was a pain when there were two of us for him to yell at, he would have hated being the only one. So I told myself Jim was a coward for running away, right up until we got the word that he was presumed dead." Steven looked up as Jim approached the table slowly. "I went to your funeral. We both did. And all your Army buddies were surprised to find out you even had a brother."

"You never tried to contact me when I got back," Jim pointed out.

"At first I did, but I couldn't get an address out of the Army. They said you'd resigned your commission. I asked Dad if he knew anything, but he said we should leave you to yourself. That you knew where we were if you wanted to talk to us. Then, a few years ago, I saw your name in the paper and found out you were living here in Cascade! I called the station, tried to find out if it was really you. I left messages . . ."

Jim shook his head. "I don't remember any messages."

"It was about . . . five years ago."

Jim rubbed at his temples. "Sounds like when I was in Vice. I was, um, undercover a lot of the time. Hard to get messages to me."

"Oh. Well, when you didn't answer I figured Dad was right, you didn't want to talk. So I left it at that."

"I didn't know," Jim insisted.

Steven shrugged. "Then a month ago, when I heard about the mayor's plans for the banquet, I suggested they have it at the track. I figured I could sort of, accidentally bump into you during the reception."

Jim glared at his partner. "Did everybody know about the mayor's plans except me?"

Blair grinned and bounced in his seat. "Simon was working on that surprise for weeks, man! I can't believe you didn't hear anything in the station."

Jim stiffened warningly before Blair could mention anything about acute senses, but Blair just shot him a reassuring smile and changed the subject again. The conversation degenerated into pleasant trivialities as the main course arrived.

The only tense moment was when Steven mentioned Mr. Ellison Sr. again. "I'm sure he'd be glad to see you, Jim."

"Sorry, not interested." Jim concentrated on his steak.

"He's, um, holding up pretty well. His health I mean."

"That's nice. So how's Sally?"

"She's okay. Still taking care of Dad."

"I haven't seen her since Danny's funeral."

Blair looked up. "Danny . . . Choi?"

Steven nodded. "He was our housekeeper's son -- kind of an honorary little brother to both of us. I'm sorry I couldn't be there, Jim, I was out of the country."

"Whatever."

Blair looked between the two of them, sensing the return of that ugly tension. "Oh, hey, the civic recognition banquet is coming up next week!" he realized. "That's when you actually get the award, right?"

"Yeah, and I get to listen to lots of speeches and have reporters stick flashbulbs in my face, too," Jim said glumly. He looked at his brother. "Would you be interested in coming, Steven?"

Steven produced a slow smile. "I'd like that, yeah."

" _Pissing contest_ ," Blair whispered. Then when Jim kicked him, "That's great, because I won't be able to make it."

"What do you mean, you won't be able to make it?" Jim growled. "After you and Simon tricked me into going to that first reception --"

Blair held up his hands. "Sorry man, but I used up my annual budget for tuxedo rentals on that one. I'd have to start cutting into my book fund next."

"You're going, even if the department has to spring for a tux."

Blair blinked. "Hey, you think they would? I don't suppose I could get reimbursed for the last one . . ."

With Blair keeping the topic of conversation light, they made it through the arrival of dessert without further incident. Jim noticed his brother squinting a little in the muted light.

"How's your head?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's fine." Steven caught Jim's frown and smiled. "All right, it aches a little. I never could hide anything from you, could I?"

Jim shook his head, looking away. "I can't believe I shot you."

"You had no way of knowing it was me in the car. Or that I wasn't the one doing the shooting."

Blair was watching them closely, and Jim knew the anthropologist had his own ideas about how much a Sentinel should have been able to see in that garage.

"Sure. You were shooting from behind a solid windshield," Jim grumbled.

"Anyway, it might not have been you that did this," Steven waved at the bandage on his head.

"Huh?"

"The doctor said it didn't really look like a bullet crease. It might have been from when what's-his-name --"

"Grant."

"Yeah, when Grant knocked me out. Or falling glass when the windshield shattered."

"That was still my fault," Jim pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's not as bad as thinking you didn't send a bullet where you wanted it to go, is it?" Steven gave him a penetrating look. "I know you, Jim. You always have to be in control. Now look, I was a little confused at the time, but it seems to me when you found me in my car, the blood on my temple was already half-dry. So if I'm remembering right, it had to have been Grant that did this to me. Right?"

"But you said --"

"I was mad. No, I was furious. I didn't realize -- after what I did when I was fifteen, I didn't realize you would think I was a liar for the rest of our lives."

"I don't. I didn't! Steven, I was -- yes, I was mad at you, but the whole thing with this murder investigation . . . that was just me being an idiot. My personal feelings -- about you, about the case -- were all confused. I guess I, I overcompensated."

"Jim. It's okay. I forgive you. All right?"

Jim stared across the table at his brother, unable to speak.

Steven ducked his head and grinned crookedly. "If you really feel bad about it, you can pay for the repairs to my car, okay?"

Any reply Jim might have made was forestalled by the return of the waiter. By the time they had all ordered coffee, the mood was broken. Shortly afterward, Steven claimed the check without letting Jim get a glance at it -- he didn't know that Jim could read the numbers through the paper -- and they said their goodnights.

Blair threw Jim little speculative glances as they headed out to the parking lot. "You weren't really angry, were you? I mean, about that little, um, misunderstanding of Steven's?"

Jim sighed. "No, I wasn't angry about that. I was mad at you for laughing like an idiot."

"Oh. That's okay then."

Jim looked at his partner.

"I mean, you've been mad at me before, right? So no problem."

"Get in the truck, Chief."

"I knew you'd come back. You probably didn't even go very far."

Jim froze in the act of putting his key in the ignition. "You knew I was listening, didn't you? That whole conversation was a setup! Getting Steven to talk about his side of the story . . ."

"Hey, I had to do _something_ to get you two to start talking!"

"You are really a piece of work, Chief. Think you have us all twisted around your finger, don't you?"

"C'mon, Jim, it was totally for your own good!"

Jim started the truck, his annoyance fading to amusement. "And what was all that stuff about `Jim is so secure in his masculinity'?" he mimicked.

"It's true! Man, sometimes you are so butch it hurts."

Jim glanced over at his partner. "That's the way you like 'em, is it? Big and tough?" He didn't even know why he was pushing it; the joke was acquiring an uncomfortable edge.

"No way, man, you know how I like 'em. Brunette and long-legged."

Jim glanced down. "I have long legs."

"Yeah, but your hair's too short!"

Laughing, Jim let the subject drop. Later he would worry about why he kept needling Sandburg for an admission he knew he didn't want to hear.


End file.
